Barbers and their Sensibilities
by Paperclip-Assassin
Summary: He's always pushing her, testing how far he can go, and at one point she's bound to fall. But with everyone gone, there's no one left to catch her... Will he return before she hits the ground? Sweenett of sorts.
1. Part I

**Umm, well... Hi. *_waves_***

**So, ususally you'd find me at the NCIS department **_(_hence the pen nam_e- cookies for fellow fans!)_** but recently I've really been into Sweeney Todd. Like, absolutely obsessing over it. **

**I spent most of my time reading all those wonderful Sweenett 'fics on this side and was really debating with myself whether or not I should try and contribute something as well. I kept writing little notes on my phone and tried to put them together to form a story that makes at least _some_ sort of sense in the end (my ideas are always pretty random)... this is the outcome. I'm feeling really insecure about this, so constructive criticism is absolutely welcome and very much appreciated. **

**Also, English isn't my first language and I struggled quite a bit with the accents, so please forgive me if they're... weird. And feel free to correct me, so I can improve my writing. ;)**

**Anyway, enough of all this. You didn't come here for my rambling. Enjoy the story! :D  
**

**Disclaimer: _I don't own the worst pies in London. Pretty sure I've never eaten them either._  
**

* * *

_**Barbers and their Sensibilities**_  
Pt. I

Nellie Lovett awoke to the sound of someone, or much rather some_thing_, howling in the street just outside her bedchamber. Now, getting up earlier than absolutely necessary on a Sunday, her only free day of the week, was the last thing she was aiming at, but whatever creature was out there, it kept its volume up with persistence, almost as if it was mocking her. She tried squeezing her eyes shut and buried her face under her pillow, but without much success. Mrs. Lovett decided that she wasn't sleepy anymore anyway, not wanting to give the dog -and she was sure that it was a dog. Either that or Satan _reincarnated as dog_- the satisfaction of having thrown her out of bed, and made her way towards the door. She was armed with one of her slippers, just in case.

"Ya bloody damn bastard dog," she yelled as she yanked the door open, aiming and throwing the footwear into the general direction the noise was coming from. To her surprise and great irritation the hostile action did nothing to shoo the animal away, but merely focused its attention on the baker, who was suddenly rooted to the spot, watching the dog carefully. It had finally stopped howling and was now hesitantly approaching her, ears pressed flatly against its head. It was a beautiful creature, Mrs. Lovett had to admit to herself, with ruff dark grey fur and pitch black eyes that shone with some sort of intelligence the baker almost dared to describe as human.  
The dog came to a halt directly in front of her, sat down and tilted its head to the side expectantly.

"Ya're lookin' for somethin' ta eat, eh?" secretly Mrs. Lovett had always had a soft spot for dogs. She admired their unquestioning loyalty and love whereas she despised cats ( not enough to pop then into pies, like certain other people, though)

"Well, let's see wot we can find ya."

The dog started wagging its tail enthusiastically, but remained sitting at her feet. She sent him a frown before snapping her fingers by her side. The dog's ears shot up and he lifted its behind off the ground. When she took a step backwards into the pie shop, it followed cautiously and when she stopped it sat straight back down. The baker smiled; oddly thrilled by the obedience she was met with. Now she was eager for a little experiment as to how far this obedience went.  
"Stay." She ordered, and then turned to search for some meat she didn't plan on filling her pies with. The dog followed suit. When she realized this Mrs. Lovett turned and waited for the dog to sit again before repeating her order more firmly. This time it worked. The animal lay down in the centre of the room and rested its big head on its front paws, patiently waiting for the promised food.

"'Ere you go, dearie, " the baker cooed as she returned with some older meat that would only harm her booming business, setting the bowl down in front of the dog. The animal sniffed the meat once and then shrunk back from the plate with a whine. Mrs. Lovett frowned and sighed, collecting the plate and heading back to replace …well, whatever poor soul had found his way into Mr. Todd's chair, with leftover pork. When she presented the new meat to the dog it instantly started to eagerly devour the snack with a wagging tail. She watched it with crossed arms and wondered who could be as cruel as to let such a kind natured creature starve. When the dog had finished it turned its gaze up to her, licking its mouth with its pink tongue, and she could swear she'd never seen anyone look as grateful as this dog did that moment in the middle of her small kitchen. She lowered herself into a half-kneeling position and stretched one hand out to the animal. The dog eyed her briefly before getting up and making its way towards the baker to nudge her hand with its cold nose. Mrs. Lovett felt her lips curl up into a smile as she started to softly pet the dog's head. It leaned into her touch and even licked her fingers, although she believed that it wasn't as much a gesture of love towards her as for the taste of raw meat on her hand.

"Is that a _dog_?!" Toby's loud voice startled her and the dog flinched and fled under the table. She straightened herself up and turned to face the boy standing in the doorway.

"Yes, love. Wot else would it be?"

"Well...what's it doin' 'ere, mum?" Toby was evidently confused and she didn't blame him. Having a giant grey dog in the kitchen on a Sunday morning wasn't exactly a weekly routine.

"It woke me up, 'owlin' out in the street. Figured it might be 'ungry."  
Toby nodded slowly before lying down on his stomach to try and get the dog out from its hiding place under the table. It sniffed the boy's hand before slowly leaving the safety of the shadows to let it be pet.

"Can we keep 'im?" Toby asked excitedly as the dog rolled onto its back, silently demanding for the boy to rub its belly. Mrs. Lovett, who had watched the whole scene from afar while filling a bowl with water for the dog, froze mid-motion. She hadn't given that subject any thought at all when 'inviting' the dog inside, but now that she considered it, she found herself quite fond of the idea of having the grey animal around permanently. She quickly banned that thought from her mind.

"I'm sure someone must be missin' 'im, love. Look 'ow nice 'is fur is, 'e can't be livin' on the streets..." she didn't mention the fact that whoever was the owner of the dog also seemed to let the animal starve enough to make it run off.

"An' what if you're wrong? If no one comes lookin' for 'im, can we keep 'im then? "  
Both the dog and the boy were begging her with their eyes for a promise she knew she shouldn't give. But she shouldn't be a murderer's accomplice either, so she didn't really care.

"We'll see."  
Toby grinned and the dog gave a happy bark. It even walked up to her and nudged her hand with its nose, making her smile. Suddenly someone knocked at the door quite forcefully, making the dog hide under the table again. Mrs. Lovett sighed.  
"Toby, will ya go an' see who's outside?"

"Yes, mum," the boy darted across the room and lifted the curtain aside to take a look at the street. "Uh...it's Mrs. Mooney, " he informed the baker with disbelief evident his voice. Mrs. Lovett's head shot up in confusion and she motioned for Toby to leave the room. The dog stuck its nose out from under the table and whined as he saw the boy walk out.

"Take 'im," Mrs. Lovett hissed and went to open the door, not looking back to see if the dog actually left with the boy or not.

"What took you so bloody long, Eleanor? " Mrs. Mooney greeted her before eyeing the fellow baker skeptically. It was then that Mrs. Lovett realized she was still dressed only in her night gown with a robe haphazardly thrown over it. She self-consciously wrapped the robe more closely around her and crossed her arms, ignoring the little snicker coming from the woman in front of her.

"Wot do I owe the pleasure o' yer company to?" She asked sarcastically.

"'Ave you by any chance seen a dog?" Mrs. Mooney tried to get a look inside, but Mrs. Lovett blocked the view effectively by stepping outside and closing the door behind her.

"A...dog?" She tried to sound genuinely surprised but could obviously not fool the woman before her. Mrs. Mooney narrowed her eyes with suspicion but played along.

"Yes a dog. Ya know, tall-ish animal. ..barks an' howls from time ta time."

"I bloody knows what a dog is. Now, tell me why you're lookin' fo' one." The baker knew that only minutes ago she had lectured Toby about the wrongness of keeping the dog, but now that she knew her archenemy of some sorts wanted it, she refused to give the animal up without putting up a fight. Mrs. Mooney hesitated for a moment before straightening herself up.

"That's none o' your bleedin' business," she cleared her throat.

"If ya want me ta talk it is." Mrs. Lovett smiled smugly and leaned against the door frame. Now she was teasing her opponent, fully aware that she knew the dog was inside. Mrs. Mooney threw her arms in the air with exasperation.

"Fine. Keep 'im. Bastard kept getting' on me nerves anyway. But don't come beggin' me ta take 'im back once 'e starts eatin' ya inta poverty. 'Ave a very good day."

With that the bad-tempered woman turned on her heel and left into the direction of her own pie shop without another word.

Mrs. Lovett sighed and closed her eyes briefly before reentering her house. Toby and the dog were standing in the centre of the room and she knew that the conversation had been eavesdropped upon. Toby was grinning from ear to ear.

"We can keep 'im for sure, right? "

"Yes, love. Looks like it, don't it?"

"Did ya hear that, Dog? Ya're stayin'!" The boy fell to his knees next to the animal and threw his arms around its neck. The dog's response was simply a content growl.

Mrs. Lovett watched the dog and the boy play for a while with a warm smile until she heard someone pacing upstairs. She jumped up, realizing that she had completely forgotten about the demon barber...and his breakfast. She knew he didn't actually _eat_ the meals she brought him, but she liked to think that he at least _appreciated_ them. And bringing him food gave her the opportunity to try and have a conversation with him, although _conversation_ wasn't quite the right term. It was usually more of a monologue from her side that either lasted until he threw her out or just stopped responding altogether.

The baker hurried into her bedroom to get dressed, trusting Toby to watch the dog. She cursed under her breath for letting herself get distracted so easily, though she had to admit that her heart had felt lighter than ever during those two hours during which she'd managed to ban the barber from her mind completely. Guilt rushed over her immediately for even thinking this, but she couldn't deny the truth. Sometimes loving Sweeney Todd was the hardest and simultaneously the most beautiful thing in her life. Even though she knew he didn't feel the same way and never would. But a woman was still allowed to dream, no? And she knew he needed her just as much as she needed him. Of course he'd never admit it, but she was sure he did.  
Now dressed in one of her favorite garments, Mrs. Lovett rushed back into the kitchen.

"Toby, love, be a nice lil' lad an' 'elp me with. .." her voice trailed off and she stopped, rooted to the spot, at the sight of one very grumpy looking barber sitting at her table and glaring from the boy to the dog, which was hiding its huge body behind the boys thin frame, and back. Silence filled the room and from the corner of her eye she saw Toby slowly exit, the grey dog still by his side. She didn't know how long it was silent after the pair had left, but after a felt eternity her chatty nature got the better of her.

"Breakfast's almost done," she said with as much cheer as she could manage. Sweeney ignored her.

"The dog needs to go." He stated in his usual monotone voice.

"'An' why's that? " she asked, crossing her arms.

"I don't like him."

She couldn't stop the disbelieving laugh escaping her lips.  
"Well, that's too bad, it really is. 'Cause last time I checked this was _my_ 'ome. An' I _do_ like 'im."

The barber's head shot up and he glared at her, got up and slowly walked towards his landlady, backing her up against a wall. Her heartbeat immediately sped up at the close proximity but she was already trained in feigning indifference, knowing only too well that the barber used her feelings for him against her for manipulation to his advantage frequently.  
"Mrs. Lovett. .." he started and his hand brushed down her side, over her ribcage to her waist where it stayed for a moment.

"Mr. Todd. " she responded mockingly.

"The dog will be gone by tomorrow. " he mumbled and his hand left her body to grab one of his razors from his belt to make a point. They held gazes for a moment before the baker looked down and smiled, patting the barber's chest in mock affection.

"Ya won't even know 'e's 'ere, love." Just like intended Sweeney stepped away and walked toward the door leading to the outside staircase. He stopped with his hand on the handle but didn't look at her.

"_One_ bark" he warned darkly with a subtle motion to the razor at his hip, and left.  
Mrs. Lovett walked over to the table and dropped down on the bench with a grunt, dropping her head in her hands.

It looked like trouble was inevitable.

* * *

**So... Let me know if you want me to continue or had enough. :)**

**Peace xx  
**


	2. Part II

**Okay, first of all: thank you so much for all the positive feedback! It really encouraged me to keep writing. You guys are just amazing and I'm glad you seem to like my work. :)**

**I don't know how many chapters this story is going to have in the end - could be five, could be ten - because I do have different parts already written, I'm just not sure how to put them together... I'll try and update every week, but don't get mad if it takes a bit longer sometimes. If an update really takes way too long for your liking - feel free to PM me ;D**

**Now, without further delay, here's chapter two. **

**Disclaimer: _Would I be writing this if I owned Sweeney Todd? _** (Yeah... I probably would)

* * *

_**Barbers and their Sensibilities**_  
Pt. II

Despite her dark premonitions the next couple of days went by without any further complications. Toby was busy with building a fort out of old wool rags for Dog to sleep in while the animal dozed in a corner, wagging his tail even while he slept. Due to the horrible weather outside, not a single customer found his way into the shop on Thursday and it gave Mrs. Lovett time to get some cleaning and the week's laundry done. When all of the barber's shirts were neatly hung up to dry in the afternoon, she decided enough work had been done for the day and went to prepare supper for the whole household, including its newest member Dog.

As if on cue she heard the animal bark in the next room, leading to an interesting idea. Her thoughts were permanently swirling around Sweeney Todd, formerly known as Benjamin Barker. The dog liked to _bark_. Somehow she found some evil pleasure in the idea of secretly naming the dog Ben. Only as a little inside joke of hers. She knew the barber mustn't ever find out about that, or she was sure she'd soon end up in her own grinder, but for the time being the whole idea amused her to no end.

It was already dark outside when the food was ready to be carried up into Sweeney's shop. She pushed the door open with her elbow, careful not to drop anything, and entered the dimly lit room. The barber was sitting in his chair, staring at his razor with empty eyes. First she didn't think he even noticed her and turned to leave again, feeling quite hungry herself, but Sweeney suddenly spoke up.

"Twenty-eight."

Mrs. Lovett turned around again, "Wot?"

"The dog," Sweeney explained, "It barked twenty-eight times today."

"'Tis wot dogs do, Mr. T," the baker said with a half-grin, still thrilled by her secret pet name. Sweeney looked up at her from his sitting position, his onyx eyes illuminated by the single oil lamp in the far side corner of the small room. She quickly lost herself in the depths of his gaze until he cleared his throat and got up, slowly walking to his usual spot by the window.

"I warned you," he murmured, "I _don't_. Like. Dogs." His hands balled into fists, knuckles turning white. Mrs. Lovett shrugged it off as one of the barber's moods and crossed the room until she was standing beside him.

"May I ask why? An' don' tell me 'tis because o' your Lucy," her eyes widened as soon as the words had left her mouth, because of _course_ it was about Lucy. _Everything_ was about his bloody Lucy. He turned to face her with a look that screamed '_Oh no, you didn't_.'

"Excuse me?"

"No, no, Mr. T, I 'andn't meant for it to sound like that, believe me, I di'n't," she almost stumbled backward over the chair in the centre of the room, but he caught her by the wrist with an iron grip and pulled her against his chest. She was breathing raggedly and closed her eyes so she didn't have to see the heartbreaking agony in the barber's eyes. Suddenly he let go of her and disappeared. It took Mrs. Lovett another moment until she dared to open her eyes and look around the room. The barber was gone. She tried to calm her racing heartbeat and left the room as well after one last look at the forgotten food standing on the chest by the door.

Downstairs she found Toby passed out on the sofa with a half empty bottle of Gin tightly hugged to him. Ben the dog was keeping him company, only acknowledging her presence by lifting his ears when she entered the room. At least those two hat eaten and could rest happily now. When she went back into the kitchen the dog's eyes followed her until she sat down by the table once again. All appetite had left her and she regretted angering the barber. Although she'd never liked that wimp Lucy, she still hated upsetting him, because whatever caused him pain always pained her as well.

Why did she have to be so naïve as to think that anything in his life didn't relate to Lucy, his yellow-haired angel, his savior, the keeper of his sanity – and _in_sanity?  
(_Was it unhealthy to use such a great amount of sarcasm in ones daily thoughts?)_  
Sometimes Mrs. Lovett toyed with the idea of telling the barber his beloved wife was still very much alive, but she knew she'd lose him then. And she just couldn't lose him. Not again. Not now.

She didn't know how much time passed while she just sat there, trying to see shapes in the wooden pattern of her table, but at some point she found herself being watched by a pair of black eyes. The dog had gotten bored of watching over the sleeping boy in the next room and was now sitting next to her. She lifted a hand to softly stroke his head, her wrist still sore from when the barber had almost crushed it.

When the animal licked her hand she felt comforted and loved; both things she hadn't felt in a long time. Sure, Toby loved her, and he was like the child she never had, but it was a different sort of love. It was the blind love of a boy, unbreakably strong, but only temporarily. She knew the dog's love was almost unconditional. As long as she fed him, he would stay with her. Somehow that thought lifted a heavy weight off her shoulders.

…

Mrs. Lovett awoke with a start as the whole shop was illuminated by lightning. It took her a moment to realize that she must have fallen asleep at the table and she automatically looked down next to her to see if the dog was still by her side. To her great disappointment it wasn't. The baker heaved a heavy sigh and got up. Her body felt like lead as she walked into the direction of her bedroom. On the way she passed Toby, who was still sleeping soundly on the sofa. Not even the deafening sound of thunder outside could wake him from his alcohol-induced slumber. Mrs. Lovett threw a blanket over the boy's thin body and continued the journey to her bed.

Once she was cozily wrapped up in all the blankets she could find, the baker closed her eyes; hoping sleep would take her over again. It didn't work, of course. Now that she was in a place that was actually comfortable to sleep in, she felt like all of her previous tiredness had fallen off her. She rolled around in her far too large bed and cursed the thunderstorm outside, blaming her insomnia on Mother Nature.

Upstairs she heard the familiar sound of the barber's footsteps, which didn't surprise her. Sweeney rarely slept… Sometimes, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, she doubted he slept at all. And while she, being the nice little baker she was, wouldn't dream of waking him if she _did_ find him fast asleep, _he_ on the other hand had no shame of disturbing _her_ rest at some ungodly time of night to inform her of some spontaneous nighttime 'customer',

Mrs. Lovett took a look at her clock on the wall when her bedroom was again illuminated by lightning. Almost four-thirty. Even if she managed to fall asleep within the next half hour; she wouldn't catch any real rest.

"Might as well get up," she muttered to herself, swinging her feet off the bed. Her back ached from her odd sleeping position at the kitchen table and the baker cursed under her breath. It was one of those days that were already terrible before they even began. She took her time getting dressed and then walked to her kitchen. When she passed Toby, still asleep and snoring softly, she woke the dog by his side. The animal got up and stretched its limbs before following the baker, surely for the sole purpose of getting food.

The dog ate peacefully while the baker prepared some porridge and waited for the kettle to boil, watching the sun rise over the foggy streets of London through her window every so often. The shrill sound of boiling kettle ripped through the comfortable morning silence and she flinched, because the noise scared the dog, who started barking vigorously at the kitchen item, waking not only Toby in the next room but quite possibly every still sleeping soul in Fleet Street.

"Mum? is ev'rythin' alright?" mumbled Toby as he walked through the door, blinking sleepily at his foster mother, who prayed silently that by some miracle the barber hadn't heard the animal. Of course that wasn't the case – everyone who wasn't dead, or at least _deaf_ had heard him and within ten seconds after Toby had joined her, the door swung open forcefully to reveal a furious barber with a razor glistening in his hand.

"Toby, why don't 'cha go an' 'ave some porridge, eh?" the baker choked out, motioning for the boy to leave. Toby narrowed his eyes at the barber but did as he was told. Once he was gone, Mrs. Lovett positioned herself protectively between dog and man.

"I strongly suggest you move out of my way, woman… " Sweeney growled through his teeth, taking a few steps into the room but Mrs. Lovett stood her ground and calmly held the barber's gaze.

"Now, now, love. Wot do ya think you're doin'?" she said, taking the same number of steps back as Sweeney had forward while trusting the dog to be smart enough to stay behind her. He didn't answer, clearly too enraged to speak, and just stared at the grey animal, the hand holding his razor twitching slightly. The dog whined at the hostile gesture, so the baker stroked its head to calm the animal which only seemed to infuriate the barber even further.

"I will ask you again one more time, Mrs. Lovett," he said, his voice nothing but threatening, "Move aside and I shall not harm you… if not, I'm not promising anything."

The baker swallowed hard, cold sweat forming on her hands and her heart speeding up with every slow step the barber took into her direction. He only stopped barely a foot away, a menacing smirk playing around the corner of his mouth.

_His perfect mouth… _

Mrs. Lovett lost herself in fantasies of what those lips could possibly do to her, what they could say. Lately every word that left them caused her pain, but she had no doubt that one kiss would make up for every harsh insult or curse, all she had to do was lean in and-

She stopped herself right there, hoping she hadn't involuntarily given away what she'd been thinking about. To her great relief the barber didn't seem to have paid any attention to her body language, still utterly focused on the dog, which seemed to be shaking from fear.

"It wasn't 'is fault…" she suddenly stated, still desperately trying to defend the animal, "I shouldn't 'ave put the kettle on. Silly me, no wonder 'e 'owled… Please, Mr. T-"

He shut her up effectively by pressing the cool razor to her lips. If she moved even the slightest bit, there would surely be a cut. When the blade left her mouth she didn'T dare to speak again.

Sweeney's smirk morphed into a vicious smile as he crouched down to finish the business he'd come to finish. Just as Mrs. Lovett was sure she would have to sell dog pies for a change, Toby burst through the door of the pie shop (he must have exited through the back door earlier) and the dog sprinted across the room and disappeared.

"There's a customer waitin' at your shop, Mr. T," Toby informed the pair in a high-pitched voice. The barber swore loudly, flipping his razor shut and straightening himself up into a standing position.

"Tell 'im to wait another moment," he growled.

"But-"

One death glare was enough to send the boy darting straight out the door again, not daring to object any further. When they were alone Sweeney closed the distance between himself and his landlady until his lips were at her ear.

"Next time there will be no mercy, my love."

A few seconds after those words had been whispered the barber was gone and the baker stood once again alone in her kitchen, not knowing if her body was shaking from lack of sleep, fear of what could have happened or relief because it hadn't happened.

A combination of all three seemed most likely.

* * *

**The plot will be moving forward in the next chapter, just so you know :) **  
**Review on the way out?**


	3. Part III

**This 'fic turns out to be way darker than expected... I feel like it's getting more and more depressing O.o **  
**Looks like I'm quite the sadist... poor Mrs. Lovett! But I also think it would take a lot of bad things to happen to her for Sweeney to realize... _certain things_ that will be explored in later chapters ^^  
**

**Anyway, somehow I really liked writing this chapter... but I don't know what to think of it. It's random. I just took what my muses were throwing at me and glued it together. **

**Hope you'll like it anyway :)**

**Disclaimer: _There's a hole in the world like a great black pit and it's filled with people who... don't own Sweeney Todd. Sadly, I'm one of them._**

* * *

**_Barbers and their Sensibilities_**  
Pt. III

It was a particularly chilly day in London, considering the season, and the wind was howling through Fleet Street but Mrs. Lovett noticed none of it. She was currently in the hot bake house, chopping up the demon barber's latest customer while humming a light tune to herself. The number of daily victims had increased drastically since the incident in her shop, but as long as Sweeney targeted his anger at the men finding their way up into his shop instead of Dog, the baker wouldn't complain.

The work wasn't an easy one and the smell coming from the earlier mentioned costumer's abdomen didn't make it any more pleasant, mind you, but Mrs. Lovett still worked with a smile on her lips and a certain lightness in her heart.  
She threw the severed head, together with the disembodied limbs into the fire, and then proceeded to put everything else in her oversized grinder, ridding herself of any evidence of that poor lad's existence.  
For a moment she watched through the oven door as the flames licked around the flesh but soon she lost interest.

With a sigh the baker closed the oven, almost burning her hands on the hot iron handle, and headed for the stairs but only after thoroughly closing and locking the bake house's heavy door. She ascended the stairs while humming her tune again, lost in her own little world. In that distracted state she didn't notice Toby coming up to her in an enthusiastic run, the dog tailing lazily after him.

"Mum! Ya'll never believe what 'appened jus' now!"

Mrs. Lovett looked down at the grinning boy with an amused frown.

"I'll bet I will find out soon enough, won't I, dearie?"

"Me was just walking down to the market ta get your groceries when this gentleman walked up ta me an' 'anded me this."  
The boy held up a yellowed piece of paper in his hands, proudly handing it to his foster mother, who eyed it with the sort of polite curiosity a parent brings up for their child's silly ideas.

„Wot is that, love?"

"'S a promise, mum!" The boy informed her with glee, grabbing her hand and squeezing it softly with his small fingers.  
"The man told me that 'e owned a ship, big one with huge sails an' everything, an' 'e was lookin' fo' workers ta 'elp 'im on 'is next journey. ..an' 'e thought I was perfect for that job! 'E even took me ta look at it!"

"Why that's...nice, love."  
She couldn't quite bring up the enthusiasm Toby had expected from her, but the news shocked her more than she would let the boy see. He had really grown on her, childish way of seeing the world and everything, and she couldn't bear the thought of letting him take off, but she also knew she didn't have the right to keep him from what he wanted.

"_Nice_? That all ya can think of ta say?" He was clearly disappointed. "Would you rather I stayed with you and Dog for the rest o' me life?"

"Course not. If it's what ya wanna do then go. Sail the world an'...an' see its wonders."

" You'd really be ok with that, mum? Don't ya need 'elp in the shop?"  
She smiled at the boy, fully aware that his concern was only of polite background, and then enveloped him in a tight hug.

"Don't'cha worry 'bout me now. I can handle them pies by meself. An' I got Mr. Todd ta 'elp in emergencies."  
The baker cringed inwardly at her own lie, knowing only too well that the Barber upstairs would rather slide down from his chair into the bake house headfirst before helping in her shop. The boy seemed to be oblivious to that fact, completely absorbed by the opportunity of travelling the oceans of the World and escaping the piteous streets of London.

"Talkin' 'bout Mr., Todd," he called out, "Di'n't you tell me once that he also used ta sail around?"

"'E's seen quite 'is share..." The baker nodded, not remembering when she had ever talked about such things to the boy.

Toby's eyes lit up even more if that was possible, and he already started to sprint towards the outdoor staircase. Mrs. Lovett's heart stopped for a second when she realized that the barber might have one of his 'customers' up there and she darted out after the boy as fast as her tired legs would let her. Luckily the chair was empty and there wasn't a sign of the murderous business usually taking place within those walls. Sweeney Todd stood by the big window, staring blankly out into the streets. A relieved sigh left her lips at the familiar sight and she entered the room far calmer than she'd thought she would. Toby stood still like a statue a few steps into the room, not daring to speak up and make himself noticed.

"What do you want?" The barber startled both, her and the boy, for neither had expected _him_ of all people to initiate conversation. His voice was monotone, holding neither menace nor positive emotion.

Mrs. Lovett cleared her throat. "Mr. T, we got great news."

He turned around with a swift motion, his right hand darting to one of his 'friends' by his belt. "Is the judge coming back?"

"...we got _news_." Mrs. Lovett corrected herself after hesitating briefly, ridding her previous statement of its greatness. As expected the barber lost interest in his landlady after that and went back to brooding over his revenge while blindly watching the semi-busy street below his window.

"Ya see, lil' Toby 'ere will be goin' ta leave us soon," she explained anyway, "'e's gonna sail off with some wealthy lad an' 'e was wond'rin' if ya could, ya know, tell 'im a bit 'bout yer experiences at sea."

It was silent for so long, she was close to grabbing Toby's hand and dragging him back downstairs, not expecting an answer from the man across the room. Just before she fell into action she was surprised by his ruff voice tearing through the silence yet again.

"What does 'e want to know? "

Mrs. Lovett nudged Toby in the side, beckoning him to speak but before the boy could even as much as breathe Sweeney turned around to glare at him and the utter madness in the barber's eyes shocked not only the boy.

"Would he like to know what it feels like to starve for weeks? Or to live with dozens of other men in filth surrounded by the stench of decay? Or, Mrs. Lovett would your little _pet_ wish to hear my tales of how my fellow shipmates went suicidal one by one after they simply couldn't accept their fate any longer?"

The baker felt the boy next to her begin to shake with fear as Sweeney threw his head back and laughed the bellowing laugh of a madman. She herself had to suppress a violent shudder. Never since he'd returned to England had he once mentioned his time with the other convicts, all gathered to be shipped off into the unknown. And suddenly Mrs. Lovett realized for the first time that not only the loss of his beloved family had broken her Benjamin, but on top of it the once so sensitive man had seen and endured horrors she herself couldn't imagine. The baker felt overwhelmed by the sudden urge to throw her arms around the barber's neck and weep, for the man that was now pacing the room again, evidently present with only his body and not his mind, clearly had a soul even more shattered than he had let on.

"What's 'e mean by all that, mum?" Toby didn't dare to raise his voice above a whisper as he grabbed her skirt and held on to it tightly for support. Of course the innocent boy had no idea what had occurred in Fleet Street all those years ago. She knew he disliked the barber but still he believed he was an honorable man who just so happened to have travelled all seven seas in his younger years. And Mrs. Lovett did honestly not know what to tell him.

"Would ya mind leavin' me an' Mr. Todd ta talk for a minute or two?" She asked with a forced smile.

"No!" The boy's sudden outburst startled her. "_No_ mum! You _always_ send me away whenever 'e gets angry. I know there's something y'a'ren't tellin' me. What's 'appened 'ere before I came to you? What terrible history are you keeping from me?"

"I can't tell ya, boy. You 'ave to understand that."

"I'm done understanding. And I honestly can't wait ta get away from this awful place. Away from you an' yer barber." Toby turned and left after spitting those words at his foster mother. She felt tears well up in her eyes, but kept her composure even as she heard angry footsteps stomping down the outside staircase and the door to her shop being yanked open and thrown shut forcefully.

"You could've told him, Eleanor." Her head shot up at the barber's use of her first name. He looked heartbreakingly vulnerable as he stood there by his barber's chair with a hanging head, staring into empty space. Mrs. Lovett crossed the distance between them with shaky steps and laid a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Wot would I 'ave said? That Turpin sent ya away to Australia for nothing jus' so 'e could 'ave your wife an' kid...? That the meat I'm fillin' me pies with comes from customers you slaughter and that you're doin' it ta avenge 'er death?"

Sweeney shook her hand off and looked at her with a blank expression.  
"He wanted to know the truth."

"An' I refused ta tell 'im," she stated the obvious, utterly confused by the calm and yet roughed up atmosphere in the room.

"Why?" His eyes burned into the back of her head but she didn't dare to answer him.

_Because I feel more loyal to you, who despises me than to the boy who loves me._

_Because it is easier to live with a carefully built lie than with the wretched truth._

_Because... I love you._

No, Mrs. Lovett couldn't answer him. Not only would he not understand, furthermore speaking those words would only complicate things and she couldn't use a single more complication in her life or else she was sure she would fall victim to insanity.  
"I should go... see wot the lad's up to."

The barber dismissed her with a single nod of his head and she left. All her previous gleefulness was gone and she could only hope that once the boy left -and she had no doubt he would do that as soon as possible now- they would at least part on good terms. She knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself if not.

Mrs. Lovett found Toby sitting on the sofa in the company of Dog and a newly opened bottle of gin. The animal's head was in his lap and he stroked it absentmindedly.

"You love 'im, don't ya." It was more of a statement than a question and he didn't look up at the baker. She nodded, knowing he would see it from the corner of his eye.

"I'm sorry, love."

That's when he looked up at her with a tired smile.  
"'S okay. If ya love 'im, ya won't betray 'im."

"I _do_ love you too, you know that, Toby." Again she felt her eyes tear up.

"Yes mum, I know. But you love him more. And I can't stay jus' to 'elplessly watch 'ow 'e breaks you by breakin' 'imself. That's why I... I'm gonna leave tomorrow night."

Now she couldn't hold back her tears any longer, her vision blurred and a single sob of pure desperation escaped her lips. Toby walked up to her and hugged her while she held onto him as if for dear life, constantly rambling hushed nonsense into his hair.

He wouldn't ask any more questions, knowing she couldn't give him the answers he wanted to protect the man she loved so fervently but without hope, and somehow this utter acceptance made it even harder for the baker to let go, because it proved to her once more that she couldn't love the boy in her arms as much as he deserved.

"I'll visit you when I come back to London one day, mum," Toby said, his voice thick with emotion.

The baker kissed the boy's forehead.  
"An' I will already be waitin' with a pie an' a bottle o' gin, love."

They smiled sadly through their lies, both aware that they would never see each other again once the boy left.

* * *

**Review to comfort Nellie Lovett?**


	4. Part IV

**Phew, finally had time to write this. Sorry for the late update, but I got a maths test coming up which is kinda very important... and I completely suck at maths, believe me, so this had to wait a bit.**

**In this chapter tragedy strikes again one last time. Y'know, 'cause their relationship isn't screwed up enough as it is :P**  
**I'm an evil person.**

**After this it's all going to be flowers, rainbows, unicorns and the baby animal of your choice, though.**

**Kidding. ****It's a _Sweeney Todd_ 'fic, what were you expecting?! **

**There will be Sweenett, of course. That's the point of this story, so keep reading, keep them reviews coming and be patient with me and my weird updating intervals. **

**You guys rock^^**

**Disclaimer: _Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention puhleeeaaaase! I wake every morning in shame and despair, discover I don't own this marvellous pair._**

_...man I suck at rhyming. :D_

* * *

_**Barbers and their Sensibilities**_  
Pt IV

Mrs. Lovett walked home from the marked, her basket filled with various vegetables. It had been three weeks since Toby's departure and she missed the boy more with every passing day. It was much too quiet in the shop without him and she had to work twice as hard in the evenings when her shop filled with hungry customers until the door could barely fall shut.  
As predicted from the beginning, Sweeney didn't even consider helping her and her pride prevented her from asking. She'd always gotten along by herself since Albert's passing, why show weakness now?  
When the baker arrived at her meat pie emporium, she immediately felt that something was off. Usually the dog would already be waiting at the door for her with gleeful tail-wagging but this time she was alone in her shop. She was just about to dismiss the silence with a shrug but at that precise moment a howl of pure terror cut through the air. Mrs. Lovett immediately dropped her basket and rushed into the direction the noise had come from. The howl was still ringing in her ears, even as the house was dead silent again.

She ran through the empty rooms of her home and ascended the inside staircase to her tenant's shop when she couldn't find anything down there. Her heart beat out of rhythm as she opened the old door upstairs. What she saw knocked the breath out of her as if she'd been kicked in the stomach.

There was the barber, standing above a non-moving Dog and cleaning a razor with a filthy cloth. A pool of dark liquid was slowly forming around the animal, soaking the wooden floor boards. Mrs. Lovett couldn't believe it. Didn't _want_ to believe it. Everything had been going...almost well. The barber had seemed to be getting used to the grey dog, even though it'd started howling in the evenings, mourning Toby's absence. She couldn't quite comprehend the fact that Dog would never howl again.

Just then a weak whine came from the animal which she had already thought dead.  
"At least 'ave the decency ta finish 'im off, will ya," she told the barber. He stopped polishing the razor and nodded, crouching down to slice the animal's throat for the second time. The baker watched without emotion as Dog's rib cage sank with the last breath escaping his mouth. It was quiet for a moment before she spoke again.  
"Downstairs." The order was firm and her voice sounded strangely hollow, as if it was another person speaking through her lips. She didn't look back to check if Sweeney was following her, but he better was because if not she would come back and drag him down and if it was the last thing she ever did.

Once in her kitchen she closed her eyes for a second to stay as indifferent as she could before turning around to face the barber, hands on her hips, silently demanding an explanation. He met her gaze with empty eyes. She didn't know why she'd even expected to see an apology in them.  
"Why?" Mrs. Lovett concentrated on breathing in and out but when the bloody Barber didn't even bother to answer she lost it.  
"Why in bloody 'eavens couldn't ya keep yer friends to yerself fo' _one_ time? One. Single. Time... Mr. T."

"I told you often enough to keep _it_ away from me, you ignored me. So _I_ ignored _you_. Don't you think that to be fair, my pet?"

The baker giggled, though it sounded choked and everything but humorous.  
"_Fair_? No. You don' get ta teach me 'bout fairness. 'S no' fair that you walk inta me life after all those years, expecting me ta 'elp you-"

"I expected nothing of you. I merely took what you offered."

"Oh, shut yer mouth. _I'm_ talkin' now!"

"As always." Sweeney didn't even try to hide the smirk forming on his lips, a fact that infuriated his landlady.

"I wash your shirts. I take care o' yer 'customers'. I cook for you. I bloody _clean_ for you... and wot do I get in return?"

"The booming business you always dreamed of."

And those words stung. Oh, how they _stung_. Because they reminded the baker, already on the edge of utter insanity, of a pleasant mid-summer evening with the two of them sitting up on a rooftop terrace overlooking the city and talking about the future. Just Nellie the young baker and Ben the recently engaged barber.

_"You're shinin' brighter than the sun today, ya do."_ She'd said.

_"I love her so much, Nellie. Soon we'll be married and have a bunch 'o kinds... move into a bigger house."_

_"I'm happy for ya."_

_"Then why is it you look so sad? Wipe that frown off your pretty face."_  
That had been a typical Benjamin. Always aware of what the people around him really felt.

_"'S nothin' really. I'll just miss ya, that's all."_

He'd taken her hand and squeezed it.  
_"Ah, you won't even notice me absence. Soon your meat pie emporium will be known all throughout London, I'm sure. You'll be too busy serving hungry gentlemen than to miss me."_

_"Ya think?"_

_"Certainly"_

Well, he'd been wrong. The customers had stayed away, avoiding her shop like the plague. And she had missed him every moment of every day of every week for fifteen years.  
And now he had the nerve to say he was doing her a _favour_.

Mrs. Lovett shook her head slowly, breaking out of her reverie.  
"I couldn't care less for me business," she spat at him. Sweeney's smirk vanished.  
"I've known you forever, Eleanor. You can't fool me. You enjoy all the attention you're getting. You _enjoy_ deceiving those morons who come here every night, making them believe it's pork or beef they're devouring. Think of the dog as... sacrifice for the good life you're leading now."

"Wot would yer Lucy think o' you if she were 'ere this very moment? She 'ad a dog when she was a young girl, di'n't she? I remember now. Tha's why you can't stand 'em now." The baker hesitated before adding in a whisper:  
"She couldn't look at ya._ I_ can't look at ya."

To clarify her point Mrs Lovett turned away, walking over to the big windows.  
"Benjamin Barker is dead, as you said. I wouldn't believe ya when you told me so all those weeks ago. But now I do. I think the last bit o' Benjamin died with that dog upstairs. So ya migh' as well fo'get that wife of yours."

She felt herself being yanked across the room and then thrown against the nearest wall, her head connecting with the wood paneling with an ugly _thump_. For a moment everything went dark. Mrs. Lovett blinked furiously to make the black dots before her eyes go away and tried to move, but the barber had her pinned against the wall, razor at her throat, his breathing ragged and his expression tormented. The situation was already too familiar for her to fear for her life. He would calm down and then storm out just like all those times before, no need to worry.

Or that's what the baker was telling herself. Truth be told, it was more threatening than ever before and she felt the hair at the back of her neck stand up.

"I will never forget Lucy. She's my family!" Sweeney's eyes where set alight with pure fury.

" Was," the baker corrected calmly as if she was teaching a small child the alphabet for the hundredth time.

"What?!"

"She _was_ your family, Mr. T. Now there's no use in dwellin' on the past-"

"How _dare_ you."

"'S the truth, love."

"You know not a thing about _love_, woman! You've never truly loved anyone in your pity existence... and now give me one single reason why I shouldn't cut your throat and end it all. Don't you think I'd do it?"

Oh, she didn't doubt for a second that the Barber wouldn't hesitate to let the razor tear through the soft, pale skin which the silver blade was already pressed up against, dangerously close to drawing blood. Not in his current stage of rage.  
She couldn't even think of the last time that many words had left his mouth without a pause.

Mrs. Lovett realized at that point that she felt something warm on her throat but it took her another moment to know what it was exactly that was dripping onto her dress, staining it probably beyond fixing.

_Blood_.

Her own blood, to be precise. Sweeney Todd _had_ cut her. And suddenly she started to feel the sharp pain the cut caused her, worse than that, though, was the sheer agony the barber's words had set free in her heart. How dare he say she never loved anyone? After everything she'd done for him, how could he not realize how very much she loved him?

"Leave..." her voice was low, almost inaudible. His black eyes, still clouded with madness and menace, met hers as He pushed her further against the wall, causing more blood to ooze from the small wound his razor had created. She pushed him away and he stumbled backwards, taken by surprise.

"Leave me 'ouse _now_!" she shrieked, grabbing the nearest item from behind her and hauling it at the still wide-eyed barber. It hit him square on the chest and she heard the grunt escaping his mouth at the impact.  
It disappointed her a bit that she hadn't hurt him but at least now he seemed to be out of his stupor. He looked at her, for a moment she even thought to see something akin to regret in his eyes, then nodded once and left, the razor in his right hand still stained with her blood.

Only when she heard the door to her shop being thrown shut, the baker allowed herself to let go of her charade and break down. Her whole body began to shake uncontrollably with every desperate sob escaping her lips. She dropped to her knees, one hand subconsciously wandering to the wound on her throat. Mrs. Lovett didn't realize how deep the cut went and that she was, in fact, still bleeding.

With passing time her sobs were beginning to stop but tears kept running down her cheeks, blurring her vision.

She couldn't see through the watery curtain before her eyes but still saw the Barber cutting her dog's throat.

She couldn't hear through the drumming of her own heartbeat in her ears, but still heard the animals howl of complete agony.

Mrs. Lovett tried to cover her eyes and ears with her hands to rid herself of the scene that kept replaying over and over again in her head but there was no use. It was permanently burned into her mind and would give her nightmares for many weeks to come. When she wiped her hands over her face the salty taste of her tears mixed with the bitter rusty one of her blood and she felt like throwing up. Suddenly she was desperate to get out of her stained dress and almost ripped it from her body, tearing the once white lace round her cleavage to pieces, disgusted by the reddish brown color of dried blood.  
Again she did didn't know how much time passed while she sat there in her parlor only in her under garments, trying desperately to regain control over her shaking body and raging emotions.

When the baker's breathing evened out and she could blink through her tears again, she got up. Now, standing on shaky legs, she knew she wouldn't let the Barber get away with his actions without consequences this time. She had no choice but to let go.

Once and for all.

Up in her tenant's room it smelt like death. She'd never noticed it before that moment but the sheer stench of blood was suddenly overwhelming. Dog's body was gone, but she was sure Sweeney had just thrown him down through the trap door.

"I can no longer 'ave you stayin' 'ere, Mr. Todd." She swallowed once. "I'm asking you ta leave as soon as possible."  
Sweeney looked slightly taken aback, standing rigidly by the window. "I don't wanna know when you're leavin'... jus' don' come back."

She didn't stay to see his reaction and simply walked out without another word. Tears started to burn in her eyes again but she had sworn to herself an hour prior while getting cleaned up that she would never again cry over Sweeney Todd or his actions.

It was foolish of her to think that she would keep that promise.

* * *

**NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED DURING THE WRITING OF THIS CHAPTER.**

**Review? :)**


	5. Part V

**Yes, well... I'm a bit late, aren't I? Sorry. I had a lot to do lately. Remind me again why I used to _like_ school?**

**Okay, back to business. This chapter is shorter than the others were, because I had originally planned to continue and make it longer but now it seemed good to end it here and upload two chapters instead of one. The second one will hopefully follow sooner rather than later ;)**

**The perspective changed, as you will hopefully notice, and it's now Sweeney's POV. Bear with me and any possible OOC-ness, he's pretty damn hard to write and I have my own ideas of how his mind works... which I'm not going to explain now because you'd probably think I'm utterly insane. I really do think too much about this movie. O.o**

**Disclaimer: _By the sea Mr. Todd, that's the life I'll covet. By the sea, Mr. Todd, Oh, I know I'd love it. You would see, Mr. T, I would write alone, all the characters I would own, down by the sea. Wouldn't that be smashing?_**

**_Warning: _**Harsh language and a lot of blood-loss ahead!

* * *

_**Barbers and their Sensibilities  
**_Pt V

Who the hell did that bitch think she was to throw him out! And because of a bloody, filthy, dog! Damn that woman beyond eternity.

Sweeney Todd kept swearing to himself as he strode through the foggy streets in blind rage. Hours had passed since he'd been thrown out of his room by the bleedin' baker whom he'd thought to be his loyal accomplice. Obviously he'd been wrong with that assumption. That witch. That damn bloody fucking _whore_.

He didn't need her anyway. Her pie shop had been convenient, of course, but otherwise she was nothing but useless. Only annoying him with her pointless and disgustingly cheerful chatter around the clock. No. He did definitely _not_ need her.

If you wanted to have something done the right way then you had to do it yourself. No one else could be trusted.

He was just about to curse his now _former_ landlady again when he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Shaking said hand off he turned to face whoever dared to intrude his dark thoughts.

"'Scuse me, sir. Aren't you the barber who won the contest against that smug bastard Pirelli?"

Sweeney merely nodded, too consumed by his anger to put on the Nice-Barber-Next-Door charade.

"I'm sorry but your name seems to have slipped my mind, Mr. ...?"

"Todd."

"Ah, yes. Mr. Todd. Your shop's in fleet Street, eh?"

"...Yes. Yes, it is."  
He wanted nothing more than to get rid of that person.

The man frowned slightly.  
"Why, I was just about to go for a shave. It's a pity that you chose to be closed today."

A wicked grin spread on Sweeney's face and he motioned for the man to come closer. "It seems you're a lucky man, sir, as by some coincidence I have just decided to return to my shop again..."

"Oh how wonderful!"

"Follow me."

That bloke was even dumber than he'd originally thought because he trailed after him with the joy that was reserved only for the stupid. Didn't even notice they walked into the opposite direction of Fleet Street. Didn't even realize they were passing less and less people.

Didn't even suspect a thing when he grabbed him in a dark alley. Didn't even make a sound when the razor tore his throat to pieces.

To make the body look less suspicious the barber went through his victim's pockets to take what he would no longer need. Golden pocket watch. Money. Cufflinks.  
London was a dangerous place. Such robberies were nothing out of the ordinary now, were they?

Pleased with his work he wiped his razor on the bloke's coat and walked off to find a place to stay. Nothing fancy, just some room to spend the nights at. He found something suitable in a small street of which he didn't even bother to memorize the name. It was a lonely Inn owned by a very non-talkative middle-aged Irish couple. He disliked them from the second he first set foot in their house. Good. The room was cheap and he payed for three weeks in advance. They didn't ask any questions and just handed him a key.

Sweeney dropped his belongings, which he'd carried with him in a big sea bag all day, on the lone table in the windowless room that was now his home. He grimaced as he thought of the former owner of his bag. Albert Lovett. Even after their _fight_, ... or whatever the dispute between himself and the pathetic baker could be called, she had still helped him out by giving him something he could transport his few things with. Typically stupid women's behavior.

With a grunt the barber sat down on the worn bed and kicked off his muddy boots, then proceeded to shrug out of his coat and vest. He lay back on top of the covers and waited for sleep to overcome him, knowing it wouldn't happen..

It was way past midnight but outside his room the street was noisier than by day. He heard drunkards yell obscenities at one another and felt the strong urge to go out for a nice little late-night kill. Or possibly even two. His hand moved to the old wooden nightstand on its own account to grab the one thing in this world he could truly trust. The silver of one of his friends felt pleasantly cool in his fingers. Without the oil lamp his room was so dark, he couldn't look at the blade but he saw the way it glistened in the light before his inner eye. He imagined what it would feel like to slice the throat of one of those bastards out there, see the blood gush out of the main artery and pond around the fallen body. Even the thought alone gave him this odd thrilling satisfaction he got with every victim. The ultimate relief, though, would not be merely momentary. Once he saw the filthy judge's life drain from him together with the liquid, he was sure he would find peace. His revenge would be completed.  
Sweeney Todd fell asleep then, a half smile on his white lips.

.

Many days went by with Sweeney killing random strangers in side alleys to satisfy his thirst for blood but it didn't help him to find a solution to his most obvious problem:

_How was he going to kill the judge now?  
_  
On more than one point he'd been willing to storm into Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium and finish what he hadn't been able to finish approximately two weeks prior: murder that damn witch. _She_ had destroyed everything. _She_ was what stood between him and his vengeance. But he had convinced himself that this was what the baker wanted and he would not give her the satisfaction of winning.

He left the Inn at mid-morning to "promote Sweeney Todd's Barber Shop", not knowing what he was about to learn.

Only four streets away from his doorstep he already noticed the agitation the whole town seemed to be in. Everyone was excitedly chatting about something; he just couldn't make out what the subject of common concern was exactly.  
He decided to approach a group of young workers.

"...I would've nevah guessed 'e was sick," one of them said.

"Excuse me rude intrusion in your conversation, gentlemen," clearly they weren't used such politeness as they eyed the barber suspiciously. He continued anyway, now that he had their attention. "What is it everyone's talking about?"

"Don't you read the paper, sir?"  
Mockery was clear in the bloke's voice. When he didn't get a response he spilled the news, "Judge Turpin died of tuberculosis last night.

"Are you certain?!" Sweeney choked out after the first shock wore off. The young man grinned from ear to ear.

"'E's stone-dead, sir, I tell ya. An acquaintance of mine spoke to the Beadle this mornin'. "

No. That couldn't be. No. It was impossible. _He_ was the one who should have killed him. Not a common disease. No. No, no, _NO!_

"Sir? Is ev'rythin' a'right?" The second lad spoke up, laying a hand on the barber's arm. In an instant Sweeney had the boy lifted up by his shirt collar.

"'Ey, wot are you doin'! Let go of 'im!" The third worker yelled. "Bloke's bloody mad, 'e is!"

The barber dropped the boy, who fell to the ground and immediately ran off, followed by his friends, leaving a lost, broken man standing in the middle of the street.

The Judge was dead. Gone. His smug, ugly, triumphant face was never to be seen again. And it wasn't his doing.

In a rage he turned on his heel and stomped off towards the next filthy alley way. Unlike today, tomorrow no one would speak of Turpin's death. Tomorrow the police should find mangled dead bodies and call it a massacre. No amount of innocent blood, spilled on the plastered streets of London would ever satisfy the Demon Barber, but there would certainly not be a lack of deceased citizens, he would make sure of that.

Starting with the obstacle maker, who made the terrible mistake of crossing Sweeney Todd's path. Yes, there was a certain amount of over-kill involved as he literally tore out the man's throat, but oh how good it felt. All he saw before him was the Judge, drowning in his own blood and it was the best damn sight he could imagine at this moment. It truly was a pity he would never see these images become reality.

He had long lost count of his victims by the time he returned to the Inn in the early morning hours. His skin was sticky and covered in dry blood and so was his clothing. The next day's priority would have to be getting rid of evidence. Right now he felt... relief. And with this relief it was easy to drop on the bed and sleep a dreamless sleep.

When he awoke the relief was gone and all he now felt was a throbbing pain. Every damn part of his body hurt. His joints were stiff and his head would explode any second, he was sure. On top of it all the room was unbearably hot, making breathing near to impossible. A layer of sweat was slowly forming on his forehead.

He would not admit it to himself at first but he, Sweeney Todd, was sick. This was ridiculous. The Demon Barber did not just fall victim to illness like that. But it only fit too well, didn't it? Everything was falling apart. Fifteen years he'd been waiting for his revenge, and what for?

Nothing. Bloody _nothing_.

So now, what more was there to live for? All he had to do was lay there and wait a little while longer. How long could it possibly take for a fever to suck out a man's life? He certainly was no doctor, but judging by the way he was feeling and his inability to move even a single muscle he figured death could not be far.

And he would gladly embrace it.

The barber had never been a religious man - considering his fate it was no wonder - but maybe there _was_ something like an afterlife. Maybe it was a way to see his beloved wife again. Look into her shining eyes. Embrace her petite frame. Kiss her soft lips.

Yes. This must be the purpose of his soon to be ending existence. His sole reason would always, even in death, stay the same for him.

_Lucy_.

* * *

**Jeez, Sweeney... No need to get melodramatic! Men are such babies when they're sick, am I right? Even our dearest murdering barber thinks he's about to die 'cause he caught the flu. Poor thing.**

**Every review causes a little Easter Bunny to smile **;)


	6. Part VI

**I'm almost afraid to come back now... but here I am. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting yet again. Hopefully you're gonna enjoy this chapter if you're still reading :)  
I made this chapter 1,000 words longer, though, so I hope that makes things a little better..  
**

**Special thanks to demonspitfire for the very kind message. I don't think I would've finished this chapter today if it wasn't for you and your encouragement.  
Also, you're the one who gave me the courage to publish this story in the first place.  
So.. Thank you!**

**Disclaimer:_ Excuse me, my lord, may I request, my lord, permission, my lord to disclaim?_**  
_**Forgive me if I suggest, my lord, I'm thinking it would be best, my lord, to grant me this one request, my lord, because lie i will certainly not... I merely do own the plot.**_

* * *

_**Barbers and their Sensibilities** _  
Pt VI

Shapes. They're everywhere. Swirling around before his eyes, shifting and molding together or drifting apart. He's surrounded by armies of triangles and circles, spiraling ever downwards into infinite nothingness. And suddenly he's falling too. Faster and faster he feels the air rushing past his limp body and as much as he wants to, he is unable to move even a single muscle.

.

Sweeney awoke bathed in sweat, which was not as much due to his dream as to his unusually high body temperature. His forehead was burning hot and it took much more effort than it should for him to keep his eyes open. He knew he had to get cleaned up. Although he did not believe the Irish couple would actually check on him, the barber knew better than to take a risk like this, so he heaved a heavy sigh and slowly – much too slowly for his liking – attempted to move himself into a sitting position. To his great annoyance it stayed at the attempt for a while, as his sudden non-horizontal position caused a wave of nausea to rush over him, effectively forcing him to lie back down and squeeze his eyes shut until the bloody room stopped spinning. The second try to get up was cautious but crowned with success. Sweeney was finally standing upright – more or less- in the centre of his small chamber. Due to the lack of windows, he could not tell what time of day or night it was and he wasn't even sure how long his fever-induced sleep had lasted. Had his victims been discovered yet? Certainly. Were the police able to trace anything back to him? Impossible. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He truly was a demon. And demons never got caught.

Washing the dried blood out of his white shirt was exhausting and the barber kept swearing constantly while standing at the small wash basin in the corner, aggressively scrubbing away on the brownish stains. On its own behalf his mind traveled across the city to the little baker and for the briefest second he felt appreciation for her spotless laundry work bubbling up in his chest. He was quick to ignore the feeling, of course. Bloody woman believed she loved him; taking advantage of the situation was the obvious thing to do. He had already done greater wrongs since his return, why become morally correct all of a sudden? With a grunt the barber capitulated, throwing the still blood-stained shirt into the basin. His legs almost gave in beneath him, another wave of fever flooding his body like a stream of lava, and he barely made it into bed before a shivering fit shook him, the cold of the chill fighting the heat of his fever until he fell back to sleep from exhaustion.

.

Bright. Everything is so bright. He can barely see anything except for colors. In fact that is the only thing to recognize. The shapes are gone, giving way to hundreds of different hues. It's beyond anything he's ever imagined before. A world composed of colors and ripped of everything rational. As he floats past the rainbows, maybe the rainbows even float past him, he's starting to connect the colors to something… Some_one_.

He keeps encountering this very light cream color. '_Skin'_, he thinks, '_her_ skin.' At the moment he's not completely sure who _she_ is exactly- he's not even sure who he himself is-but now that he has a rough idea, the number of colors he associates with her increases drastically. Starting with the outline he begins to form an angelic figure, much like one would solve a puzzle, only he's not working with separate pieces but with a sheer endless variety of different color combinations. Pale blue, like her eyes. Soft pink, just like her lips. Yellow, shining like her hair. It doesn't take long for him to have a perfectly detailed replica of her. And he remembers her. _Of course_ he remembers her. Lucy. His wife… his _life_. He can't believe he's forgotten her even for a short period of time, quite obviously, he is out of his mind, but thank goodness she's here to show him the right way again.

He finds the control over his limbs and stretches an arm out to touch her. She, too, reaches out and their hands connect. He feels love bubbling up in his heart and smiles. She smiles back and starts pulling him with her past the sea of colors and into the bright light.

Now that he's holding her he knows they've made it. Lucy and Benjamin will never be apart again.

.

His eyes opened and he, again, found himself in complete darkness, a stark contrast to the previous white light. He felt… odd. What the hell was it with all those dreams he kept having? Darn fever. As if he'd ever forget his angel. This was nothing short of ridiculous. He let a couple of minutes pass to make sure the nausea would stay away this time before he took his time to sit up. His mouth was almost painfully dry as the fever's heat had drained the barber of most liquid. It was most definitely time for a drink and, as much as it disappointed him, it would have to be of non-alcoholic nature.

Somehow he managed to cross the room without running into a piece of furniture and light the single oil lamp. The shine coming from it, although only weak, hurt his eyes and his head started throbbing more violently than it had already. _Stupid, damn, bloody-_… Sweeney didn't even know who or what to curse. The _lamp_? He could hardly blame his health – or lack thereof- on an inanimate object now, could he? Taking his time he made a mental list of suitable scapegoats for his current situation, top most obviously being Judge Turpin who had started the down spiral of the misery he didn't dare to describe as 'life' anymore. Turpin was closely followed by Mrs. Lovett, just because she had dared to offer him something like hope. Hope to get revenge. Hope to find closure. …Hope to maybe – possibly- lead a normal life again. Well, as normal as life could get if your business consisted of murder and cannibalism. He himself was on his list as well. For even considering her offer, that was. Lastly there was one man left to blame: Stupid, lovesick -and therefore naïve- Benjamin Barker.

For a moment Sweeney expected to see someone else when he splashed water on his face and then looked into the filthy mirror by the wash basin, but staring back at him he found two black eyes underlined by grayish-purple circles. A pale – almost chalk-white – face was framed by hideous black hair, standing into all directions from constantly lying in bed and sticky from his sweat. He shuddered as he stared into the mirror, trying to remember what he had once looked like. His dream threw him off somewhat, because he had subconsciously really felt like his old self. But the man he saw now felt more familiar, like an old friend almost, while Benjamin was more like a ghost, always present somewhere in his head, but too far away to be tangible. It was almost as if his dream had been a symbolic wish of farewell.

When realization hit it almost crushed him.

The baker had told him she hadn't believed Benjamin Barker was dead until he, Sweeney, had killed the dog she had become strangely fond of. Only now did he understand that he himself had kept holding onto pieces of his former self while always telling her that man was dead. Now he knew that the last piece of Benjamin hadn't died with the animal, as Lovett had said, but in fact left this world with the Judge. Somehow, as much as he searched his mind, he found nothing but memories of a personality he no longer harbored.

That's when he started laughing.

It was such a strange sound coming from his lips, he jumped as it cut through the silence like thunder, but he could not stop himself. The situation was too surreal, but still somehow the barber felt something shift inside of him and the consequence was a laughing fit. Why, wasn't it bloody hilarious? All these years he had believed once the judge was dead, Benjamin would return. Instead he was now gone for good, leaving an emotionless murderer in a windowless room with his life ripped of its purpose. Sweeney Todd no longer needed salvation. In fact salvation could quite frankly kiss his posterior.

His laughter grew ever more joyful and he was quickly running out of oxygen, which was counterproductive, considering his still tattered health. Soon the barber's bellowing laughs morphed into coughs, forcing him to return to the safety of a horizontal position in his bed. With passing time he managed to regain the control over his raging emotions. It pleased him to fully accept Sweeney Todd after more than fifteen years of constant denial. He no longer felt split into two pieces, but for once completely whole and it made him feel a strength he hadn't thought he would ever possess again.

.

Lost. He feels so lost. And now he's passing that same tree again for the third time. The woods have always terrified him. It is never silent, there's the constant sound of _life_ buzzing in his ears and he despises it. Death is what he's living for. He starts running to flee from the happy birds chirping their songs from the tree tops or the bees humming almost hypnotically, but there is just no escape.

Suddenly he sees _her_.

For a moment he stands perfectly still, considering whether he's merely imagining her or if she's actually there, only a couple of feet away. She doesn't seem to see him and just keeps strolling along the narrow path, dodging branches that are blocking her way. He has the strong urge to protect her, although he knows she does not need his protection. But maybe he needs hers.

He decides to follow her, trusting her to know a way out of the labyrinth of trees and bushes. Her pace quickens and before he knows what's happening he's sprinting after her. Bloody woman. He curses her while at the same time admiring her speed and the sheer swiftness of her movements. When she laughs he knows she's aware of his presence behind her and only mocking him. Involuntarily his lips form a – hopefully undetectable- smile.

When she stops abruptly he almost crashes into her, causing her to let out a fit of giggles again. Her smile lights up her whole face as she sends him a wink and dashes forward once more, leaving him standing there breathlessly. Why he still decides to follow her is a mystery to him, but he does it nonetheless. Thank God, her hair is visible even through the shrubbery partly blocking his view; a chaos of auburn flames flying about her head as she runs.

Her next stop isn't as unexpected as the last one was and he effectively comes to a halt next to her, breathing heavily. The number of trees has decreased slightly, he realizes, though he has to admit he hasn't noticed the change prior to this moment due to his focus being… elsewhere. She suddenly grabs his hand and starts leading the way.

On the horizon he can already see the edge of the woods.

.

The first day of fully being Sweeney Todd already started with an old habit; denial. He had _not_ dreamed of his former landlady, no bloody way. He didn't want to see that witch ever again; it was simply against his wish to leave everything behind and start over. Still, every time he blinked he saw the mass of red hair, held together in a messy bun, bobbing up and down before him as she ran away, forcing him to chase her. As if he'd ever do that.

Sweeney stopped mid-motion as he stood next to his bed, noticing the constant feeling of nausea had worn off and he had made it out of bed without falling right back down. He swallowed twice… his throat wasn't sore anymore. Also, the pain in his joints was gone together with the throbbing of his head. When he touched a hand to his forehead it was of normal temperature. He felt almost good again. Maybe a bit hungry even.

Suddenly his landlord burst through the door.  
"Either pay for another fortnight or pack your bags and fuck off," he barked. Apparently he had been sick for more than a week, sleeping through most days. Fair enough. That bastard would not get any more money from him, though he _did_ hope to "shave" him in the near future.

"I will be gone shortly," he snarled back, already beginning to throw his belongings back into the sea bag, which was still standing in the exact same spot he had dropped it three weeks earlier. The Irishman merely grunted and sent him a warning look before he left.

Within a couple of minutes the barber was on the streets again, _almost_ enjoying the feel of fresh air filling his lungs. He didn't even care that rain was pouring down as if it was Judgment Day. It had the advantage that it washed the remains of sweat off his skin that had still clung to him from his sickness. No one else was out in that weather and he was _almost_ disappointed to have no one to talk to. The rain grew even heavier by the minute and soon he couldn't even make out the buildings on each side of the street but he kept walking.

He didn't know how long he had strolled through countless lanes and alleyways unknown to him, but when he stopped he found himself at a door he would always recognize. His sub-consciousness had led him back to Fleet Street.

A weird feeling of belonging overcame him, completely throwing him off. Of course this had been his home for many years, but there was something else. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Hesitantly he approached the door, looking through the glass window. At first he couldn't make out anything, but the more he concentrated the clearer he was able to see.

For a moment he wondered if the little baker had made enough money during their collaboration to finance actual pork or even veal to fill her pies with but the pie shop looked much like it had when he had first returned almost a half year prior; filthy. The table was topped with a layer of dust and he was certain the lone pair of pastries sitting on a plate were once again home to a family of roaches.

When he actually started to shiver from cold the barber cleared his throat and ever so hesitantly reached out to open the door. The shop bell gave a cheerful jingle as he crossed the threshold and he let his eyes scan the room for a familiar figure. When he found her he almost winced in shock.

She was a mess.

Her hair was matted and looked more than a bird's nest than ever but it wasn't just that. Her skin looked strangely grey and it even seemed like she had aged a decade, even though he had been absent for mere three weeks.

"We're not open t'day, dear," she said without looking up and her voice was nothing like he remembered it. Instead of the usual feminine ring – that was certainly attractive to some people if not to him – it was hoarse and weak. He cleared his throat once more.

"I'm not here to buy pastries, Eleanor."

He saw her brow crease in disbelief before she finally turned her head to take a look at him. When her gaze met his he wished she hadn't looked up. Her once so shining eyes held emptiness he knew only too well; the baker had given up. She laughed a sad laugh.

"There is nothing left for you to take from me, Mr. Todd."

He realized that she was right. She was just one more victim of Sweeney Todd, the only difference being that he had done far worse than killing her. He had smashed her to pieces.

Now the least he could do was to to put her back together again.

* * *

**Well, my lovelies, we're actually going into some sort of sweenett direction now. Finally. I'm hoping to finish this story in one or two more chapters, so stay tuned. **

**Reviews are love! :)**


	7. Part VII

**okay, so I had like the world's longest explanation prepared, but my computer decided to delete the whole author's note, so long story short: I'm terribly sorry for the hiatus but school and especially final exams at the end of the year are extremely time consuming.  
**

_Uh, yes if anyone's wondering why Sweeney is behaving weirdly in this chapter.. it's because he's trying to leave both Benjamin Barker and the murderous part of Sweeney Todd behind...__you'll see whether that's working or not_

**This is the final chapter of this story, so I hope it was worth the terribly long wait. You guys have beeen awesome to write for. :)**

**Disclaimer: _Read now, my friends. Read this, but listen: I know, I know, I've been gone for a while. My friends, my fathful friends, well I've returned to find you waiting... I still don't own this, do I?_**

* * *

_**Barbers and their Sensibilities** _  
Pt. VII

The first days back at Fleet Street went by so fast, it felt to him as if things kept happening so rapidly that they got blurry and surreal whenever he attempted to focus on a particular memory. If someone asked him what he had done in the time since his second return home, the barber wouldn't be able to give an answer. He knew he had eaten, for he wasn't hungry. He also knew he had slept, for he was wide awake now. But he remembered none of it. The only thing stuck on his mind was his landlady and the changes his actions had brought to the way she behaved. Once swift, energetic motions were now slow and heavy but worse was something that he'd never thought he'd ever complain about: the baker was almost mute. In those first days they exchanged maybe a total of ten sentences and each time he had been the one to start the 'conversation'. It was driving him insane. She spent most of her time either in her bedroom or the kitchen where she'd pointlessly knead away on dough only to throw it away later on. That seemed to be her new routine and at first he'd had no intention of interfering, but with time her passive behavior had irritated him more and more but he didn't dare say anything, afraid of what a real conversation would lead to.

One day, a Wednesday or Thursday he supposed, not sure if he was keeping count correctly, they sat at the dinner table as far away from the other as possible and he knew something was up. The baker had been chewing on her lower lip for the better part of twenty minutes as if she wanted to speak but simply didn't know where to start. Somehow the way the fine, pale flesh of her lips, turning even whiter under the pressure of her teeth only to then become a light shade of the rosy color he remembered, fascinated him and his thoughts started heading into a long forgotten direction. When her mouth started moving he didn't comprehend it at first, too consumed by the sheer perfection of the way her tongue darted out to moisturize her cracked lips, bitten to the point where blood couldn't be far from flowing from the little wounds her teeth had created.

"Y'aren't even listenin' ta me you bastard!"

His head shot up in surprise and he gawked at his landlady – though as he was currently not paying any rent, that term didn't fit too well anymore – for a second or two before regaining control over his body. "What?"

The woman at the far end of the table was shaking with rage and visibly fighting to keep calm and reasonable. "I _said_ I di'n't understand why you came back 'ere after all that you've done. After everything that you've taken from me, why on earth would you even fo' a single second believe that you're still welcome ta come rushin' in 'ere, expectin' me ta act as if nothin's ever gone wrong between us? Wot's goin' on in that insane lil' 'ead of yours that makes ya think ever'ythin' in my world revolves around you and no one else, eh? I mean it's always been about you. Your _wife_. Your _daughter_. Your _revenge_. Your _convenience_. Your _misery_. 'Ave you ever, even for the briefest moment, thought about wot all this did ta _me_? No. 'Course ya hav'n't. But let me tell you somethin'. Lucy was my friend_. I_ lost 'er too. I was left completely alone. … When you returned, all o' this, our business," she got up and motioned around her to emphasize her words, " it was my revenge on this shit-filled town as much as it was yours."

By now the baker was breathing heavily and he could make out the tears that were slowly but surely forming in her eyes. "Y'know wot the worst part of all this is?" she asked wearily, the first tears streaming down her pale cheeks. He shook his head and she sniffled once, wiping a hand over her face before looking him straight in the eyes. This time her gaze wasn't empty, as it had been in the past days. Now her brown eyes were filled with nothing but agony. It physically hurt him to hold her silent stare. "The worst part," she continued in a whisper, "is that after all that's 'appened… I still cannot bring myself to hate you."

"You should," he suddenly said without thinking, only to realize a moment later that it was nothing but the truth. He had done nothing but breaking her heart over and over in every way possible, turning the strong independent and radiant woman into a pathetic shadow replica of what she used to be.

"I know," she said with a nod and turned away, "but I don't." She crossed the room slowly until she was at the door, where she sent him a look over her shoulder. "G'night, Mr. Todd."

Left alone in the gloomy kitchen the barber stared at the spot where the little baker had stood just a moment before. Oddly enough he felt his heart beating fast in his chest, the inevitable aftermath the intensity of her words caused in him. She was right of course. He had never thought about her throughout their work together as a woman grieving the loss of so many people at once. Additionally to her friend and the toddler she had lost the man she had loved. Grimly he stared at his own hands, knowing that that man had certainly not been Albert Lovett. At that moment the concept of love seemed stranger to him than ever before but before he could ponder any further over whatever it was that he kept almost thinking of since his recent change of personality he shook his head and decided to drop the matter for the night. Silently, so as not to disturb the woman whom he could still hear crying in her bedroom, he ascended the stairs to his shop, hating the fact that he felt sorry for her while guilt kept eating away at him.

The next morning he was up early doing something he had last done more than one and a half decades earlier. The barber was making breakfast. He was swiftly rushing through the dusty kitchen in search for edible ingredients that were not alive yet and was somewhat disappointed when he had to settle for porridge because there was simply no other food in the house.  
He started a fire to heat up the hearth and patiently prepared the warm morning meal for his former landlady/accomplice in crime while trying to make the least amount of noise possible. Without success. In an uncommon moment of clumsiness he dropped a pot and it fell to the ground with a thunder-like clash which echoed throughout the house. For a moment the barber didn't dare to move even one single muscle and stood completely rigid in the centre of the room. A minute or so later the baker appeared. She'd obviously been crying again, judging by the red rims framing her eyes and the visible wetness on her cheeks.

"Wot's goin' on 'ere?!" she asked in a low voice. The barber swallowed once and, avoiding to meet her eyes, stared at a spot somewhere above her head.

"I was... cooking," he stated as nonchalantly as he could.

"Oh were you now? From the sound o' it you could've bloody well been wrecking me furniture for all I knew!" This time she seemed to really have found some of her old fire again, because she spat those words at him with almost as much venom as she had the previous night. He suspected the Eleanor Lovett he knew was still somewhere inside the fuming woman across the room and something inside of him felt almost gleeful after discovering that he could, with some effort, resurrect that person he... was used to.  
"Would you mind explainin' this ta me?" the baker demanded. He looked down and finally met her gaze.

"As I said, I was cooking."

"Yes, but why fo' Christ's sake would ya be doin' that?"

_To make you happy_, he wanted to say, but something prevented him from saying those words of truth, even though he knew they would certainly cause a change in the baker. Instead he settled for something more suitable. "Because I felt like it."

"Well, that sounds about right, don't it. Ya know, for a moment... for a very short moment last night I believed that you were listening to wot I had ta say for once in your life. Congratulations for proving me wrong once more, Mr. Todd." Her sarcastic undertone showed him that she wasn't mad but merely annoyed and that made him angry.  
That woman had known him for longer than anyone else in his life. She had known him as kindhearted Benjamin Barker and as revengeful Sweeney Todd. Now that the former was dead and the latter no longer out for revenge she no longer knew him but for some ridiculous reason he desperately needed her to understand that he was a changed man, he just hadn't the faintest idea how to make that clear.

"I need a drink." stated the baker and left before he could respond in any way other than uselessly opening his mouth without saying a word.

When she returned he had cleaned up after himself and was polishing the pot that had drawn her out of her bedchamber. She took a swig straight from the bottle of gin in her hand and moved to lean against the kitchen table. He declined her offer to have a sip of the beverage himself with a shake of his head. Her response was a shrug of her slender shoulders followed by another gulp of gin.

"You should not be drinking this early in the morning, you know." he said without accusation. For a second her eyes widened at his soft tone but then she just snorted.

"Wot do you care, you ruined me life." That, too, was said without accusation.

"That I did." he admitted with a nod. This time when her eyes widened she didn't manage to keep up her indifferent posture and put the bottle of gin aside so she could fold her arms over her chest. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, but this time his focus stayed on her eyes.

"Sweeney Todd, wot in the name of 'ell's 'appened to you while you were gone?" she asked and for the first time since his return her voice was lacking that undertone of hopelessness and agony he had refused to become accustomed to and instead held something akin to wonder.

"I accepted my fate," he answered, this time truthfully.

"Still bloody cryptic as ever, I guess that 'asn't changed."  
He detected the slightest hint of a smile, not on her lips but in her eyes. They seemed to be shining again. He'd always liked the way her eyes appeared to be radiating off happiness and glee, even though he had not realized it until that moment.  
"Well, are ya goin' ta explain yerself or not?" she inquired with slight impatience when he didn't say anything.

That was the precise moment at which he decided to let go of his secure charade and do the one thing he feared the most; being honest not only with himself but also with another person.

"It is quite the tale, Eleanor," he said, "I suggest for you to take a seat and listen intently..."  
When the baker did so, he began to speak, words flowing from his lips like water from a spring. He spoke of his anger toward her when she had thrown him out and his tour through the city in search for a place to stay, raising a hand when she wanted to protest against his hatred concerning her persona. "Please, no interruptions. Everything will be explained at some point."  
For a brief moment she narrowed her eyes but then motioned for him to continue. So he told her about how he came to know of Judge Turpin's passing and the killing spree that followed. He also told her about his terrible illness, which now in his memory seemed even more severe to him than while he had been tied to his bed, and of his dreams. They were the hardest to speak of, as they had triggered his epiphany and therefore the change in his behavior and general view of things. However, he left out the one in which the baker herself had made an appearance.  
After finishing his story, he stopped pacing the room and hesitantly turned to gauge her reaction.  
"When?" she asked after an uncomfortably long silence. He was confused.

"_When_?" he repeated dully.

"When did you kill all those people?"

"...I cannot answer that."

"Bleedin' 'ell, I thought we were past those damn lil' secrets an' half-truths!"  
The barber pulled up a chair from the opposite side of the table than the one occupied by Mrs. Lovett and sat down with a grunt.

"I cannot tell you, because I didn't pay attention to the time or my surroundings," he told her without shame, though slightly wondering why that of all things was the first question that concerned her after hearing everything else.

"Oh bother, wot 'ave ya gotten me into this time, Mr. Todd," the baker mumbled before getting up.

"Wait, where are you going?!" he asked as she hurried toward the parlor with a much lighter step than when she'd entered the kitchen after his personal breakfast disaster. He wanted to follow her but she was already reentering the room, only narrowly avoiding a collision with him.

"When I read it I a'ready suspected it must be connected ta you in one way or the other, an' then you come back acting all strange an' the like without a word o' explanation... I should've known it was you!"

"Eleanor," he grabbed the hysteric woman by her shoulders and shook her slightly until she would stop her rambling and look at him, "What has gotten into you?!"  
Instead of speaking she handed him a folded in half piece of paper. He unfolded it and studied it carefully; his complexion getting even paler than the usual chalk color, if that was even possible. The paper informed the citizens of London of a madman roaming the streets at night with the intention of murder. Below the headline was the obvious description of himself and with a pang he realized that when he had left the Inn in such a hurry, he had left the still blood-stained shirt in the wash basin. All this time he had thought himself to be able of committing the perfect crime only to make such an easily avoidable mistake.

"Why di'n't you tell me all o' this earlier, eh?! Would 'ave saved us a whole lot o' trouble."

"You didn't ask."

"Don't pretend like any o' this is my fault! I di'n't kill no one!" she shrieked but was calm again in an instant, rubbing a hand across her forehead. "Well, all this yellin' certainly ain't doin' us any good."

"What do you suggest we do?" he asked foolishly while refolding the already wrinkled paper in his hands. "Sooner or later they'll come looking for me here."

The pair stared at each other hopelessly until the baker, who so suddenly seemed to partly be her old self again, for whatever reason that was, heaved a sigh and clapped her hands together.  
"We got two options. One," she held up one finger, "you leave an' find a way ta hide from the authorities... or _two_-"

She was interrupted by a knock at the window. Both their heads turned to see a patch of ginger hair through the smeared glass.  
"Oh hell no..." hissed the baker, before yanking Sweeney out of the room and down the stairs where she shoved him into the bake house. "Go an' hide in the sewers," she ordered firmly, already hearing the door to her shop being opened forcefully. "I'll take care o' them."

"What are you going to tell them?" he inquired with odd calmness.

"Don't'cha worry, love, I'll think o' something. Now go!" she hissed before hurriedly ascending the stairs again. He stared after her in wonder. Had she really forgiven him that easily after he had told her he was a different man now? Could she be that naïve? Or that loyal?  
He didn't deserve her help, that much was clear, and a small part of him even hoped she would send the beadle down to arrest him at once and that all of this was a trap, but he knew better of course. She would never betray him the way he had her.

A half hour passed until she returned and headed straight to where she'd left him. "Mr. Todd? Coast's clear! …Sweeney?"

"Did they suspect anything?" he asked, stepping out of the shadows behind her and causing her to yelp and turn around.

"I thought I bloody told ya ta hide! An' yes, they suspected a whole lot o' things, even wanted ta come down 'ere."

In an unexpected wave of relief and affection for the woman standing before him, the barber felt the urge to show his gratitude through a hug but thought the better of it and instead the corner of his mouth pulled up into a lopsided smile. "I am so sorry, Eleanor. And I know you don't believe that – and you don't have to – but it's the truth. I have been nothing but selfish in the past."

"You were grieving a terrible loss," the baker said understandingly and laid a hand on his chest, exactly where his heart was. Strangely enough his heartbeat sped up at the contact.

"Can I ask you a question?" He looked down at the baker with what he thought to be a more or less loving expression. Her eyes narrowed in confusion but she nodded. "How come you forgave me this quickly?"

She sighed and looked away. "I thought… if I sent you away, all my mis'ry would leave with you. But it di'n't. So when you were gone I was miserable _an'_ lonely. And that's what broke me in the end. When you came back an' were almost _kind_ ta me I was so confused, I 'ad no idea wot ta make o' this. Like I said… I simply cannot hate you."

"I'm glad you can't," he whispered in a voice so low, he was certain she hadn't heard him. Or if she had she chose to ignore it, but she stroked her thumb over his chest once as if to assure him that she wouldn't verbally comment on that confession of his.

"There migh' be a way fo' you ta make your wrongdoing up ta me…" she suddenly said with a smile in her voice. He immediately thought she was asking for a sexual favor of some kind and wanted to protest – after the briefest moment of hesitant consideration for such an offer – but she stepped away from him and started pacing the dark bake house.  
"You need ta leave this town, maybe even this country, as soon as possible before the beadle decides ta return with more officers ta search the 'ouse. And I'm certain they won' be pleased with the skeletons in this basement."

"I'm afraid I'm not following…?" Her words were reasonable, of course, but he had no idea how him leaving her again could make her smile up at him the way she did at that very moment.

"Take me with you. I don' care where you're goin', jus'… let me accompany you. If we stay we'll both be hanged by the end o' the week, the whole town's lookin' fo' you and I'm the one providing you shelter."

He held her pleading gaze for a minute or more without responding to her suggestion before the demon barber version of a grin crept its way onto his lips. "I suppose I could think of a worse companion," he said and held a hand out to her, which she took without hesitation. He then began to spin her around in their familiar waltz, circling the room and taking pleasure from the way she looked up at him in gleeful wonder.

.

They left in the early morning hours of the next day. Fog was thickly hanging in the air, which was convenient for a pair of murderers on the run. They got in a coach without much luggage, telling the coachman they were newly married Mr. and Mrs. Todd, which was a common name at that time and therefore inconspicuous.

By noon they had already left the city which had almost destroyed the both of them behind and were heading toward a new beginning. The coachman had become acquainted with one of Sweeney's '_friends'_ soon after they had escaped the already busy streets and was no longer a burden.

The baker turned to look at her 'husband' and smiled inwardly. It looked like she would get her life by the sea with him after all and maybe – and at the moment this speculation seemed less unrealistic to her than ever before – she would sometime in the future be Mrs. Eleanor Todd for real. But she was in no hurry to achieve that goal.

If she had learned one thing in those months of pitch black despair and sometimes simultaneous joy it was that no matter how much she was hurt by the bloody barber, if Benjamin Barker or Sweeney Todd, he would always be the one person to make her happy, despite all his peculiar sensibilities.

_The End_

* * *

**...or is it really the end? I've been playing with the thought of an epilogue-ish one-shot, which would feature our favorite couple and during their new adventure. If you'd be interested in that, feel free to say so in a review, otherwise that's it.**

**I'm happy with how this turned out and I hope so are you. Thanks for reading and remember to leave a final review on the way out ;)**

**-MiRii xx**


End file.
